


the beautiful and damned

by mosalyng



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Organized Crime, Pickpockets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosalyng/pseuds/mosalyng
Summary: “It’s not like you’re any better,” Junhui retorts, eyes drilling into Wonwoo. He’s fuming, with hands balled into fists. “It’s not like you’ve spent the last two years stealing from innocent people, right?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, trigger warnings: alcohol (occasional abuse), smoking, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of abusive parents and obviously, crime. rated M mostly for sexual content that's still not enough to rate it E.
> 
> it's almost ridiculous how much time it took me to finish this work, but it's finally done! i wanted to try my hand at writing about a relationship that isn't necessarily healthy at first because from my own experience, i know love isn't always easy. it takes a lot of work and self-improvement, sometimes; that's the thing i wanted to convey the most.
> 
>  
> 
> proofread but unbeta'd, sorry in advance!
> 
> enjoy <3

 

 

 

A woman is walking the streets of Seoul; her face is illuminated by a pinkish neon sign of some karaoke bar. She’s surrounded by the lights of different origin, but judging by the way she carries herself, it’s clear she doesn’t feel trapped by them. 

  
Suddenly a man around her age (maybe slightly older, maybe slightly younger) approaches her with a smile that would make everyone feel uneasy. He’s objectively handsome; sharp features, black, nicely styled hair. The black coat he’s wearing seems to be tailored and expensive.  
  
He invites her to watch some tricks, and she agrees. It’s just for fun, right? He takes out a deck of cards; how predictable. His hands move fast, but she doesn’t fall for it when he tells her to pick one of them. She chooses the queen of spades and waits for this turn. He smirks and applauds her for that decision, saying it’s his favorite, too. That’s probably a lie. Then he encourages her to check her pockets, and she complies — of course, the card is right there, cold in her hands. She doesn’t look surprised, because that’s something one would expect from an illusionist who shows off in front of people he finds on the streets. It’s fun, nonetheless, so she smiles at him gently before walking away in her own direction.  
  
What she doesn't know yet is that her wallet is missing. The keys to her apartment, too.  
  
The man smirks.

 

 

  
  
  
  
A stale smell of cigarette smoke is the first thing Wonwoo notices after walking into his apartment that night, tired after hours of working. It makes him cover his nose with the back of his hand and cough a little before glancing at the curtains; already closed shut, blocking out the lights of the city. Those are the smallest details, insignificant to a stranger, but Wonwoo knows it all too well, knows all of this means a certain someone is inside - probably has been there for a while, although no sound can be heard. Wonwoo turns on the light and looks in the general direction of his sofa, already knowing what to expect.  
  
“Junhui, didn't I tell you not to smoke inside?” he says to the man lying there, with his head on the soft pillows. He reminds Wonwoo of a cat, with his body resting on the plush material, letting the softness hug his body. The man stretches out and grins slyly in response.  
  
“You did,” the man — Junhui — agrees, but does nothing to put out his cigarette, taking another drag instead. He stares at him to the point where it makes Wonwoo feel uncomfortable, and doesn’t look away even as he flicks ash into a crystal sugar bowl Wonwoo got from his grandma. “Besides, it’s your fault. It’s you who told me to wait for you here. I got bored.”  
  
Wonwoo scoffs, shaking his head.  
  
“Get that smirk off your face, it doesn’t suit you,” he says in the end, trying to subdue the feeling of irritation that begins to bubble in his veins. He knows it’s not worth it; Junhui wins every fight, so no use in starting it again.  
  
“You love it,” Junhui answers and truthfully, he’s right. Wonwoo does love it, but the rational part of him knows Junhui is just joking like he always does, so Wonwoo refuses to get provoked. It doesn’t change the fact he keeps thinking about kissing Junhui's smirk off, even if it meant tasting cigarette smoke in his mouth.  
  
The room falls silent after that. Junhui keeps looking at him, but now his stare is not roguish or teasing; he’s just waiting, patiently, for Wonwoo to take off his coat and scarf. It feels weirdly domestic, as if Junhui wanted to give him a welcoming kiss.  
  
He doesn't, in the end.  
  
It’s something they don’t talk about; an unwritten role, unspoken agreement, but Wonwoo doesn’t fail to notice the way Junhui stares at his lips.  
  
“Good job, today,” Wonwoo says awkwardly, unbuttoning his black coat and trying to change the flow of the conversation.  
  
“Yeah, you too,” Junhui says after a few seconds and smiles sweetly while hugging the pillow.  
  
“Wanna order pizza? We’ve earned enough today,” Wonwoo asks, already taking out his phone because, well. He knows Junhui like he knows the back of his hand, and doesn’t even need to raise his head to check if the other’s nodding.  
  
The doorbell rings an hour later, and it’s Wonwoo who stands up to open and get two pizzas covered in cheese, the kind Junhui loves. They spend the rest of the night lying in Wonwoo’s double bed, eating and watching reruns of reality shows Wonwoo knows Junhui finds enjoyable.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

  
Not that long ago, Wonwoo used to be a typical high school student, always carrying books and fixing his round glasses. He was the person his parents wanted — still want — him to be and received the best grades without having to spend too much time studying. He was someone people would bring up to give an example of an intelligent, gifted child.  
  
But nothing in life comes without a price, and Wonwoo knows it all too well.  
  
Eventually, his parents developed a debt that could no longer be ignored. Trials, visits from debt collectors. They tried their best not to show, not to tell him about their struggles, but Wonwoo is the observant type. Someone who always manages to see through people, especially the ones he’s known all his life. It didn’t take him long to notice the circles under their eyes, a result of too much worrying, and the way his mother’s hand shook while counting the bills after every grocery shopping trip.  
  
He slowly learns how to get rid of his dream of becoming a writer, how to deal with the feeling of disappointment, gnawing at his consciousness. It’s just his fate. He knows it.  
  
  
  
When Wonwoo shared his worries with Mingyu, someone he’s known for most of his life, he saw his friend’s face lighten up. They were sitting on the floor of Wonwoo’s hasukjib room, drinking soju and humming whatever was playing on the radio. Mingyu flashed his signature smile that once always calmed Wonwoo down and pulled him out of his thoughts.  
  
(Mingyu is -- he’s many things, but most importantly, he’s a pickpocket. A skillful one. He comes from a family of con artists and thieves, people who cheat and lie to make a living. When Wonwoo met him for the first time, at an innocent age of six years old, Mingyu had no one but his mother to tell him goodnight stories. He told everyone his father lived overseas. When Wonwoo told his mom about this, she covered her mouth with her fragile hand and whispered: “Oh, that poor boy”.  
  
That was a lie, Wonwoo found out later. Mingyu’s father spent most of his son’s childhood in jail, serving time for fraud and theft. Mingyu knew full well about it; he visited his father in prison every weekend, after all.  
  
Mingyu is someone who doesn’t need money — his parents can, without trying, afford to pay for his education and standard of life — but he likes treating himself and wearing clothes even more expensive than the ones he already has. It’s twisted, Wonwoo thinks, but they’ve known each for a long time and he’s always been aware that something about Mingyu is off.)  
  
  
That night, Mingyu told him he steals from people he meets on the streets and confessed he's in need of someone who would distract his victims.  
  
Wonwoo’s sense of mortality was yelling at him as he tried to make the decision, but when the image of his mother’s smile appeared in his mind, he knew he had no other choice but to give in. So he did.  
  
Mingyu’s smile got even wider.

  
  


 

 

 

  
“What’s the plan?” Junhui asks.  
  
He’s eating a croissant, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. The kitchen — Wonwoo’s kitchen — is small, but sunlight always shines through the small windows, making it look quite cozy. Besides, it’s enough for him, since he usually eats out thanks to the ahjumma who runs a small restaurant located downstairs. She loves him and often gives him extras as a way of saying thank you for the repairs he does whenever she asks him to.  
  
He lives in one of those run-down areas, inhabited by either poor artists whose dreams failed through or people who work day and night but still can’t afford anything more than 20 square meters of space. He’s not sure which category he fits.  
  
His apartment is small, but enough for one person. He started renting it after moving out of his hasukjib, unable to stand the sight of other people gathering together to study; something he didn’t need to do, since his shifts eventually forced him to drop out. He still works the early morning shift at the local seven-eleven, already used to tired but familiar faces and selling cheap coffee. Today is one of his days off, however, and he lets himself enjoy being able to eat his breakfast peacefully, with Junhui bustling around the kitchen.  
  
“Hongdae?” Wonwoo answers the question with a question and sits down at the table. His voice is still raspy from sleep and he clears his throat to get rid of the feeling, but it stays, so he busies himself with drinking his coffee, made exactly the way he likes it.  
  
Hongdae is usually their first and easiest option; the streets always crowded, filled with the sound of people playing the guitar or singing. Weekends are especially easy. When their work is done, they usually end up in one of the bars, paying for the drink with money they didn’t own in the morning. But since it’s summer already, some days they choose the Han River and chill out on the banks during their breaks.  
  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Junhui says, pulling Wonwoo out of his thoughts. He's still chewing on the croissant; it’s a weird choice, all things considered, but Junhui loves eating sweet, western pastries for breakfast. He’s shirtless, like always; Wonwoo wishes he could finally get used to the sight, stop getting both irritated and intimidated by this habit. “We can do that.”  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
Wonwoo met Junhui two years ago, at a party neither of them wanted to attend. It was Mingyu who invited him then, going on about the rich kids that would be there, all while wearing that smug grin Wonwoo still knows all too well. The promise of easy money was what made Wonwoo change his mind, initially set on declining the offer and sleeping the week off.  
  
He showed a few tricks then. The ones with cards, mostly, since he was too lazy to bother with taking out anything else. The money he earned that day wasn't illegal; he simply made some bets with overly confident guys who eventually lost and had to hand him a few bills.  
  
He’s good at this, he thinks. Bringing out the worst in people. Manipulating them into doing things they wouldn’t normally do.  
  
There was only one person he couldn’t win against; the man flashed him a sly grin as he took up the challenge. Wonwoo just proceeded like always, trying to not steal glances the man’s way, but when he told him to check his pockets, the stranger was already holding the card in his hand, smiling. Wonwoo lost half of the money he’d earned that night and everybody cheered.  
He couldn’t be mad; the sight was enough to compensate for the loss.  
  
He noticed that man in the kitchen an hour later, talking to Mingyu. He observed him a little, or maybe a lot, from where he stood at the entrance. The man's hair was ashy brown, almost a little red, and his big, shiny eyes were enough to make Wonwoo hypnotized.  
  
He should have been angry at his ex-partner for not telling him beforehand, but he wasn't. Maybe he wasn't that much different from the people he'd tricked that night, a little too confident, a little too brave, even without the alcohol in his veins.  
  
“Oh, Wonwoo,” Mingyu said as soon as he noticed him, and waved his hand a little. The man's wide, genuine smile turned into a sly smirk. Wonwoo wished he could know the reason, but somehow guessed it was just him. The fact he won. “That's Junhui, he’s Minghao's friend.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you,” the man named Junhui said, taking out his hand for a handshake. The way he carried himself told tales of confidence, and that was enough to make Wonwoo want to punch him in the stomach. For winning. For being this attractive.  
  
“I’m Wonwoo, but you already know that,” Wonwoo murmured, shaking the man’s hand with a little too much force. Mingyu switched his stare between the two of them, looking a little lost. None of them cared to explain.  
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
  
  


 

 

  
  
There are many things Wonwoo could use for his tricks; coins, threads, handkerchiefs. But maybe he, deep down, is a simple man, and maybe he’s just sentimental; too sentimental to throw away the deck of cards his grandfather gave him when he was a child.  
  
He still remembers that day; his grandfather sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He remembers the glasses he was wearing then, the red and black shirt he would always choose for the days he had to work in the garden.  
  
Wonwoo remembers the smile that illuminated his grandfather's face when he saw his grandson walk in. Wonwoo was supposed to stay over for the weekend, and his whole body was shaking with excitement at the thought of spending those two days at his grandparents’ house.    
  
At some point, his grandfather took out a deck of cards.  
  
“Come on, son. I’ll show you something.”  
  
Wonwoo’s eyes shined as he followed the movements of his grandfather’s tired, calloused hands. He was absolutely captivated. He took that deck of cards home and often took it out to show his parents the tricks he'd learned. They always watched him without much interest.  
  
Six years later, that same deck of cards was heavy in his pocket as he followed his grandfather's coffin on the day of the funeral.  
  
  


 

 

 

  
  
(It’s the only thing he doesn’t let Junhui touch.  
  
His apartment is full of bits and pieces Junhui always leaves behind; a toothbrush, bought in a local seven-eleven, shards of a plate he’s broken once, the scent of his cologne on Wonwoo’s pillow.  
  
But the deck is entirely his, and he needs to have at least one thing he can call his own.)

  
  
  


 

 

  
There’s one rule Wonwoo never strays away from; they steal from the rich, and the rich only.  
  
It’s Junhui who chooses the victims; he’s good at recognizing the brand, looking for the expensive purses and tailored suits. He can look at an outfit and tell what brand each garment is; he sometimes rambles about the latest collections, and Wonwoo tries to listen but eventually fails to follow.  
  
Sometimes Junhui buys himself something expensive, though, and Wonwoo can’t help but admire the way it fits Junhui’s frame, how it makes Junhui’s face even more beautiful.

  
  


 

 

 

  
They’re a good pair, Wonwoo thinks. Efficient.  
  
During the time he'd worked with Mingyu, he learned a lot about street magic. Mingyu never asked for it, and usually opted for the basic methods of distraction; asking people for directions and initiating small talk. But Wonwoo’s always had a thing for magic, and if he couldn’t do it, he could at least trick people into thinking he can.  
  
Mingyu was — still is — a little impatient, and he’s a good friend, but not a colleague Wonwoo wants to work with. They parted ways on a positive note and still hang out a lot, continue to be best friends, drinking soju in bars too small for Wonwoo’s liking. Mingyu tells him about Minghao and Wonwoo tries to stop his heart from spilling about Junhui.  
  
He usually fails.

  
  


 

 

  
It’s a Friday night, and Wonwoo wishes he could run away, just this once.  
  
The club is too crowded, the music too loud and irritating, and Junhui’s touch when he suggests ordering another drink is definitely too hot, almost burning. It doesn’t, however, stop Wonwoo from nodding his head and drinking the colorful liquid Junhui brings to the table. Then another. And another. He loses count somewhere along the way.  
  
Mingyu scoffs from the other side of the table, staring at him with a face full of disbelief. He whispers something to Minghao after a while, and they both start laughing. Wonwoo knows it’s about him, knows he’s the reason, but it doesn’t matter, because Junhui looks at him with his shiny, stupidly beautiful eyes.  
  
The three of them continue talking after a while, but Wonwoo doesn’t contribute to the conversation, feeling too dizzy to open his mouth and resting his head on Junhui’s shoulder.  
  
“Excuse me for a second,” Junhui says suddenly, gently poking Wonwoo in the ribs to make him raise his head. Then he stands up. Wonwoo knows how it goes, tries to ignore Minghao’s piercing gaze.  
  
The man Junhui chooses as both his interest and a victim is, objectively speaking, handsome; almost as tall as him, a black shirt hugging his chest tightly. Wonwoo knows the man’s appearance isn’t the reason why Junhui had decided to choose him, but jealousy takes what it wants, and never lets anything go.  
  
Wonwoo can’t tear his gaze off. It’s not like Junhui wants him to do so, anyway. It doesn’t take him long to start making out with the guy whose name he probably doesn’t know, and when he's kissing him, he doesn’t close his eyes; he looks at Wonwoo, like the asshole he is. The sight makes Wonwoo feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth from too much biting.  
  
(When Junhui comes back to the table ten minutes later, he’s waving the guy’s wallet. Mingyu and Minghao smile, immediately getting the hint. It’s time to leave.  
  
Wonwoo feels Junhui’s hand in his own, trying to help him stand up, but he doesn’t take the offer, and instead murmurs, “Fuck you.”  
  
“Is our Wonwoo-ssi jealous?” Junhui laughs, and it takes Wonwoo a lot of self-control to not punch him in the stomach. Not like Junhui would let him.  
  
They end up running from the police not long after that. Junhui’s laugh is mixed with huffs of exhaustion when they hide in some dark alley, but Wonwoo shushes him eventually, tells him to shut up; Junhui doesn’t stop smiling, even after that.)  
  
  
  


 

 

 

“You’re fucking whipped, hyung,” Mingyu says a few days later. He’s sitting on Wonwoo’s sofa, looking like a chaebol heir; but then again, when does he not, with his expensive shirts and tailored suits. Wonwoo hates the sight.  
  
“No need to remind me, Gyu,” Wonwoo scoffs, at that, and rubs his temples to fight off an oncoming headache. Mingyu laughs, at that, a laugh that would sound innocent if Wonwoo didn’t know him better.  
  
It’s a sunny afternoon, and he would rather spend it reading and trying to get rid of his thoughts, but Mingyu likes shoving his nose into someone’s business. So here he is. Listening to the younger scolding him.  
  
“It’s not healthy, you know it,” Mingyu says after a while, and this time his tone is serious, carrying a weight of worry.  
  
Wonwoo sighs.  
  
“Can you stop being right for a second?”  
  
“Hyung, can you stop being such a coward?” Mingyu answers the question with a question and shakes his head disapprovingly. Suddenly Wonwoo feels as if he was the younger one, young and stupid in the face of love.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

  
  
“Purple? Seriously?”  
  
They’re in Wonwoo’s small bathroom; Junhui’s sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt he always leaves around, fully knowing Wonwoo is going to wash it anyway. It’s an unspoken agreement, one of many they have.  
  
The bottle of hair dye feels heavy in Wonwoo’s hand. He stares at it for a long time before raising his head to look at Junhui.  
  
“I need a change,” Junhui says when he notices the stare and runs fingers through his bleached blond hair.  
  
“You’re going to look like a fucking grape.”  
  
“You love grapes, though,” Junhui answers and shows him an overly sweet smile. It’s almost tooth-rotting, making Wonwoo’s heart want to escape from his chest.  
  
No words are exchanged as Wonwoo massages the hair dye onto Junhui’s head, the movements of his hands careful and thorough. Junhui purrs occasionally, enjoying the touch.  
  
It's quiet. It's peaceful. Makes Wonwoo think this thing they have - whatever it is - could actually work, but deep down he knows it's just a momentary, fleeting feeling.  
  
He busies himself with trying to spread the dye evenly and decides not to think too much of the way Junhui stares at him in the mirror.

  
  
  


 

 

A week later Junhui’s hair is black again. He tells Wonwoo the colorful strands didn’t fit him, but they both know it’s because of the way it made him stand out from the crowd, the opposite of what they want.  
  
They’re sitting on a stranded bench, Junhui observing people thoroughly, paying attention to every detail and Wonwoo stealing glances at him, thinking he’s unnoticed.  
  
(He’s not.)

  
  


 

 

 

They’re in Mingyu’s kitchen; the three of them sitting at the table, watching Mingyu bustle around while he’s cooking a pot of jajangmyeon. His parents are away, for a reason Wonwoo prefers not to know, so the question is left hanging in the air.  
  
He can hear Minghao and Junhui talking about something, but it sounds so distant and he’s unable to tune in, unable to do anything but look at the black and white shiny cabinets Mingyu’s mother seems to love.  
  
“So I told him he should’ve confessed earlier,” Minghao ends with a soft smile and motions to Mingyu. Junhui laughs and pats Minghao on the shoulder, looking like a proud big brother.  
  
“Can you not talk about me behind my back? Literally?” Mingyu says, waving his chopsticks as if they were a weapon, of some kind.  
  
Wonwoo looks at Junhui’s genuine smile and Minghao’s irritated but still happy expression. He feels absent, as if he wasn’t there at all.  
  
He wishes he could be a part of that, could be at the receiving end of Junhui’s smiles.

  
  


 

 

  
  
“You shouldn’t try to cover the whole sky with the palm of your hand,” his grandfather says.  
  
Wonwoo nods in agreement. He knows he’s dreaming, knows the silhouette of his grandfather is too blurry and undefined to be real, but it doesn’t stop him from looking at him with fondness.  
  
When he wakes up, he still hears his grandfather’s words in his head.

 

  
  


 

 

“So. The plan.”  
  
They’re in Mingyu’s apartment, each of them sitting on opposite ends of the room. Mingyu takes the couch because that’s what he always does; sits back, looking all too comfortable, and speaks without a hint of insecurity in his voice.  
  
“He’s a big fish; owns a few companies and half of the buildings in Busan,” someone says, and Wonwoo doesn’t need to look up to recognize Mingyu’s voice, stern and determined. “He’s staying at Shilla Hotel next weekend; I’ve already prepared everything. You need to keep him occupied while I break into his suite.”  
  
His words are followed by silence. Wonwoo can hear Junhui clear his throat and wonders what the other’s thoughts are.  
  
“You’re crazy,” Wonwoo blurts out, in the end. He looks around the room, observes Minghao biting his lip and Junhui playing with his fingers covered in silver rings.  
  
“I’m not,” Minguy snorts, not comprehending what Wonwoo actually means. Then he notices the stern gaze and adds, “My father asked me to do it.”  
  
It’s wrong. It should feel wrong. That’s what his consciousness says, and he agrees.  
  
“These Gucci suits aren’t going to buy themselves,” Minghao says with a smirk. That’s a lie, Wonwoo knows it; knows Minghao is no different from him, sending the money back to China to help his parents. But Wonwoo keeps quiet, because they’re all liars anyway, and maybe some things are better left unsaid.  
  
“That sounds dangerous,” Junhui says, shifting in his chair. “I’m in.”  
  
Wonwoo huffs angrily and leaves the room.  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
The ticking of a clock, the sounds of cars driving down the streets.  
  
Besides that, Wonwoo’s apartment is completely silent while he waits, waits and waits, checking his phone every two minutes. They should be already done and out of the hotel, with a large sum of money in their bank accounts. They should already be safe.  
  
But there’s nothing; no message, no confirmation. No words that could make it easier to fall asleep. He sighs and runs fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself down.  
  
He knows something has changed and nothing will be the same, now. They’re not ordinary pickpockets anymore, and Wonwoo feels left behind. It’s not that he regrets it, quite contrary - he wouldn’t be a big help to his parents if he ended up in jail, but there’s a sting nevertheless, a feeling of jealousy and isolation.  
  
The message comes an hour later when Wonwoo goes out to throw away the trash. He’s in the middle of lighting up his cigarette when he hears the notification sound.  
  
_it’s done. can i crash at yours?_  
  
Wonwoo doesn’t even think twice before responding.  
  
_yeah, i’ll be waiting._

  
  


 

 

  
  
It doesn’t take long before the sound of someone knocking on the door fills Wonwoo’s apartment.  
  
Junhui is still in his fake waiter uniform, face covered in heavy makeup that starts wearing off. His body is shaking slightly, but Wonwoo knows better than to point it out and lets him in instead of preaching about dressing warmly.  
  
No words are exchanged while he hands Junhui a bottle of makeup removal oil and cotton pads. The other nods as a mean of saying thanks, and cleans his face without missing a bit.  
  
They keep quiet even when Junhui slips under the covers and purrs at the feeling of warmth the bed offers him. Wonwoo smiles at that but tries his best not to show. Then he finally drifts off to sleep, mind empty of every worst-case scenario he had before seeing Junhui’s face.

 

 

 

 

  
Wonwoo is angry, for the most part. At what, he doesn’t know why. He spends hours in his apartment, lost, not knowing what to with his restless hands. He tries to focus on reading, but the words start blurring after a few pages, so he sticks to lying in his bed alone and staring at the wall.  
  
There is another feeling, though; a constant state of worrying. He finds himself insomniac, wishing Junhui lived in his apartment so that he could keep track of him.  
  
But Junhui is not Wonwoo’s property; he’s not even Wonwoo’s. Junhui is anything but, a free soul wandering around the earth in the constant seeking of pleasure. Wonwoo knows that full well, after years of knowing Junhui and analyzing the other’s behaviors.  
  
Turns out, his apartment feels empty when Junhui isn’t here. There’s no one to leave clothes around, to make a mess in the kitchen, to pay attention to him. Wonwoo starts thinking about adopting a cat, but then again, he knows he wouldn’t be a responsible owner - at least not right now. So he dismisses the thought and sighs, waiting for Junhui to come back.

  
  


 

  
  
“There’s another deal. A very good one. But I presume you’re not going to change your mind?”  
  
Mingyu isn’t that different from his usual self, but Wonwoo can see through him. He notices the tiredness, stares and his bitten lip and heavy bags, and wonders what’s going on that he doesn’t know about. Asking is futile, though. Mingyu never spills about his life, especially when it comes to family issues.  
  
“I presume you’re not going to stop involving Junhui?” he asks instead, although this question is pointless as well.  
  
There’s a lazy smile on Mingyu’s face, a smile that makes Wonwoo miss their childhood years. And Maybe Mingyu genuinely believes stealing helps them gain things they never had, not back then, but Wonwoo can’t help but think about the things they’ve lost.  
  
“Hyung, it’s his own decision, you know?” Mingyu answers the question with a question like he always does.  
  
Oh, Wonwoo knows.

  
  


 

 

  
  
The next time Junhui comes to his apartment in the middle of the night, Wonwoo finally opens his mouth. No conversation takes place, though. He yells, yells, yells until his throat is dry and sore and no words are left to say.  
  
“You’re fucking crazy,” he blurts out in the end. He’s shaking, overwhelmed by the feeling of anger and disappointment. “You’re all fucking crazy. The three of you.”  
  
“It’s not like you’re any better,” Junhui retorts, eyes drilling into Wonwoo. He’s fuming, with hands balled into fists. “It’s not like you’ve spent the last two years stealing from innocent people, right?”  
  
That shuts Wonwoo up, and there’s nothing he can say back, no snarky comment he can voice out. Because Junhui’s right; because Wonwoo is nothing but a thief who can’t sleep at night, tossing and turning out of the feeling of guilt that gnaws at his consciousness.  
  
Junhui leaves, slamming the door shut behind him, and Wonwoo is lost in the walls of his own home.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
“I’m sorry,” is what Junhui says as soon as he notices Wonwoo open the door the next day.  
  
There's not even an ounce of regret in his words, and Wonwoo knows it well enough; he sees it Junhui's his eyes, desperate but not pleading for forgiveness. Not that Wonwoo would even consider giving it to him. It’s not Junhui who’s in the wrong, after all, and deep down they're both fully aware the words he'd said the night before carried nothing but the truth.  
  
Wonwoo just — nods slowly, because the only other option at hand is admitting his own hypocrisy and that’s not something he thinks he would able to say out loud. So he reduces himself to nothing but stares and a feeling of uneasiness, waiting for Junhui to fix things they should be mending together.  
  
And Junhui does.  
  
“I’m sorry, okay? I really am. I won’t do it anymore,” he breathes out but Wonwoo doesn’t pay attention, not when Junhui starts moving closer. Not when he’s fully aware Junhui’s words are all lies, ones he doesn’t need to anyway.  
  
His body tenses when he realizes how close Junhui is now; there’s a breath on his cheek, warm and sweet, the sensation making his head spin. He could practically reach out his hand touch Junhui’s soft, soft hair, run his fingers through it like he’s been wanting to do since the day they met. But it seems like a border he can’t cross, because this -- is changing, and he can feel it’s going to make the sky fall down. So he stops himself, waits for Junhui like he always does.  
  
It takes him by surprise, the feeling of Junhui’s lips on his own, but he kisses back right away, moaning quietly into it and turns out, the sky really does crumble. His mind does, too, but there’s no point stopping it now; not when he feels his body melting into Junhui’s and the other feels it too, pressing closer, closer, closer until there’s no space between them.  
  
Seconds and minutes pass like that, and Wonwoo thinks maybe at that moment, they’re nothing but two sweaty bodies longing for touch, not two almost-lovers who once made promises they couldn’t keep. Maybe this doesn’t mean anything at all, maybe he’s imagining Junhui’s fast heartbeat, maybe maybe maybe.  
  
Junhui has this power of reducing Wonwoo to nothing but maybes, doubts, and uncertainty until he can no longer stand it, existing in his head with all these thoughts. And he’s tired. Exhausted, even. He’s learned how to settle for next to nothing but he’s selfish now. He wants Junhui to himself, yearns for his touch and longs for Junhui to stay. So he lets himself want things instead of stopping himself from taking them.  
  
When he grips Junhui’s hips to keep him grounded, here, in his arms, he hears a heavy sigh and a whispered curse. He’s suddenly too aware of the fact they’re in his corridor, still, and there’s a leather jacket hanging off Junhui’s shoulders, and he wants it off, want to be able to touch his collarbones and bite his soft skin.  
  
And he does. Takes Junhui’s jacket slowly, movements careful and painfully slow. Junhui smirks in response, grabs Wonwoo’s hand and kisses his fingers while melting into the warmth.  
  
That’s it, Wonwoo decides, that’s meaningful and real and -- not artificial like the both of them. But he keeps that thought to himself because Junhui doesn’t raise his head to listen so there’s no point saying it out loud. He switches to feeling; Junhui’s hands on his arms, his neck, and blood rushes to his head before he’s able to react. He feels himself getting hard, too, feels Junhui’s hands undo his belt and he feels a strong grab on his wrist, leading him to the bedroom.  
  
Somewhere along the way, Wonwoo realizes how much he’s in love. It’s a dangerous thought, probably one of the most hazardous he’s ever had. It makes him tremble as Junhui pounds into him, pace fast but not that steady, but Wonwoo can work with it. He looks at the beads of sweat running down Junhui’s stomach, at his face full of pleasure and thinks that maybe, this could be counted as love, too. So he lets himself feel loved and makes himself believe it, all while being reduced to nothing but flashes of white and begging for more. And he repeats Junhui’s name, chants it over and over because that’s the song he always sings to himself, anyway.  
  
When they lay in the dark, chests heaving and eyes struggling to stay open, Junhui grabs his hand and Wonwoo wants to say it, out loud, but he feels like he’s swallowing pieces of glass he’s broken a few hours ago.  
  
So he doesn’t.

  
  
  


 

  
  
“It’s not going to work,” Junhui whispers the morning after, wrapped in Wonwoo’s sheets as if he belongs there. Maybe he does; maybe the soft cotton and silk of Wonwoo’s bed is the place Junhui’s meant to be. They spent a lot of time like that, under the covers, sleeping or watching movies or simply talking. It catches Wonwoo off guard, because the sight of Junhui like this isn’t out of ordinary. It feels domestic, if anything.  
  
But it’s not.  
  
“Okay,” Wonwoo answers. He doesn’t look at him, can’t bring himself to do it; because although he knew it would end up like this, with Junhui belittling the things they both feel, Wonwoo fell asleep with a feeling of hope and a smile on his face the night before.  
  
Junhui blinks a few times, visibly surprised by how easy it went. He’s an asshole, Wonwoo decides as he fixes his stare on Junhui's body, his soft tan skin and collar bones that peek out from under the covers.  
  
“Coffee?” he asks, trying so, so hard to hide the crack in his voice. Junhui has probably heard it, anyway, but Wonwoo doesn’t raise his head to check.  
  
“Yeah,” Junhui answers, voice cheerful, and fuck if Wonwoo doesn’t want to kill him for being so oblivious. Or good at pretending. Probably both. “That would be great.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Wonwoo does after Junhui leaves his apartment is taking a shower.  
  
He scrubs, scrubs, scrubs, covers his body in bubbles and foam, hoping to get rid of Junhui’s traces, of the bits and pieces he’s left on his skin the night before. He discovers numerous hickeys and bruises along the way, and the realization makes his blood boil as he forces himself to scrub harder. Only when small drops of blood appear does he stop, pressing his head against the coldness of the shower tiles. He cries until he’s too tired to continue.

The second thing he does is calling Mingyu. The younger’s voice soothes him, for some reason, and a small smile finds its way on Wonwoo’s face when he hears the familiar lisp. He hates himself for being so sentimental, always looking for cracks in the facade Mingyu’s started putting at some point. But that’s only natural, the fact he’s looking for things that would soothe him.

“I’m quitting,” Wonwoo voices out as soon as Mingyu picks up the phone, not letting him do a proper greeting. He has to say it now, he knows it, or else he’ll never get out of this constant cycle. “I’ve had enough. I can’t be like the three of you.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything for a while. Wonwoo checks the screen of his phone, thinking that maybe they got disconnected. They didn’t.

“Okay. I can respect that, hyung,” Mingyu answers in a soft voice he rarely uses. Another few seconds pass before he opens his mouth again. To Wonwoo, it feels like hours, and he bites his lip waiting for Mingyu to continue. “Does this have anything to do with Jun-hyung?”

Perhaps it should make him feel sorrowful, hearing Mingyu say it. Knowing Mingyu knows, too. He suddenly realizes Mingyu, above all, is his friend; the one who’s always been able to guess his moods and thoughts. It makes him start wondering why and when did this all happen.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, unable to hide the truth because lying to Mingyu is always a mistake; the younger always finds a way to find out the truth. “I’m going home, but don’t tell him you don’t know where I am. I don’t care.”

“Should I beat him up?”

Wonwoo laughs at that, finally, and Mingyu starts laughing too. It might feel familiar, being able to hear this sound, but it isn’t. Mingyu’s laugh is different from how it used to be and there’s nothing that could change it back; nothing to be happy about.

And then Wonwoo realizes Mingyu isn’t joking, because this man, the one who used to knock at his door every evening to make him come out and play, is fully capable of beating someone up. Killing, too, probably. He doesn’t want to know at this point. The thought is stomach-churning and makes him feel sick to the point where his mouth tastes like acid.  
  
“Don’t,” Wonwoo answers finally, voice quieter. He’s trying to make himself sound serious and demanding, hoping Mingyu will take no for an answer. “I’ll bring you the keys to my apartment, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

  
He feels weird when he realizes the only thing that makes him regret having to leave Seoul is the ahjumma from the restaurant downstairs. He visits her and orders a bowl of jajangmyeon, trying his best to make the smile he gives her look sincere.

There are no goodbyes; she’s busy enough, navigating between serving tables and dealing with people at the counter. Not that Wonwoo would say goodbye, anyway. She probably doesn’t care enough.

He waves a little when he leaves, and she returns the greeting.

 

 

 

 

 

His mother tears up as soon as she sees him at the doorstep. The feeling of guilt deepens. He wipes her tears away, hugging her small figure and finally, for the first time in the past three years, feels at home.

Neither she, nor his father touch upon the subject, but Wonwoo thinks they both know where did all the money come from. He sees it in his mother’s tired eyes, sees the way her mouth opens and closes as if she wanted to tell him something. Wonwoo decides he doesn’t have to hear it to know what’s on her mind.

He can’t bring himself to look them in the eye. So he doesn’t; spends his days sitting on the couch or lying in his bed, occasionally waving his hand whenever they leave for work. He knows, deep down, this isn’t what being back home should look like, but seeing their expectant, worried expression is too much to handle.

 

 

 

 

  
At some point, his hands almost unconsciously start reaching for his old books, the classics and the bestsellers, and he rereads them with a feeling of nostalgia. His fingers trace the dog ears and parts he’s highlighted with a pencil, all the things that made him want to be a writer in the first place.

It makes him realize there’s nothing he can call his own, nothing but the way words keep trying to get out of his chest. Because he might be twenty-three years old, a fully grown-up adult, but he still has no degree, no real job, no own flat and no achievements he could take pride in.

Finally, after three years, he sits down to write.

 

 

 

 

  
Junhui starts calling and calling and calling and doesn’t stop even though Wonwoo always declines. He leaves his phone in airplane mode most of the time, physically unable to look at the screen only to see the same caller ID every time.

He sends messages, too. Wonwoo ignores them, always leaving them unread.

Maybe one day they’ll be able to be friends again, Wonwoo thinks. But it’s hard; coming back to the start, while knowing how wonderful Junhui is and how soft his skin feels under Wonwoo's fingers. The thought lingers in his mind and doesn’t let him fall asleep no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

 

 

 

 

  
“What happened?” his mother asks finally, grabbing his hand as if he was still ten years old and requiring her care. Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say to her trustful eyes. She smiles at him softly, urging him to speak.

“Did someone break your heart?”

He’s not sure how to answer, because Junhui has always been open about his fear of commitment. No words needed to be said for Wonwoo to know it. Junhui didn’t lie and didn’t deceive him in the worst way possible, so saying he broke his heart would be unjust.

He nods, nevertheless, because it’s easier than explaining everything, and maybe deep down he knows the mothers are always right, anyway. He wants to let her believe Junhui is the reason he’s being like this — because it’s partially true, after all, and telling half of the truth seems better than lying, anyway.

“Oh, baby,” she says and hugs him, holds her twenty-three years old son in her arms as if he was still a child, innocent and not guilty of many crimes.

She starts petting his head at some point, but he can’t bring himself to tell her to stop and make her realize he’s undeserving of her care. It makes him feel sick with guilt and hatred, and suddenly his body is filled with venom that makes it hard to swallow. When she finally leaves, he gets up and drags himself to the bathroom; he ends up throwing up everything he’d eaten that day.

 

 

 

 

 

  
Here’s the thing: Wonwoo doesn’t know that much about Junhui.

It’s weird, all things considered. But maybe Wonwoo has this tendency to fall in love with his own thoughts rather than real possibilities.

He knows the basics; knows Junhui moved to Korea from China at the age of ten, together with his mother. His father is not that different from Mingyu’s, only a little more ruthless and unforgiving. He knows that much.

Wonwoo clearly remembers that one time when he heard Junhui talking to his mother on the phone. She was yelling at him, throwing curses and baseless insults, and he saw Junhui trying not to shrink. He remembers other things, too: things like _you’re so similar to your father it’s making me sick_ and _I don’t want you to come home anymore_. Which Junui did, anyway, despite Wonwoo telling him he can stay over at his apartment for the sixth night in a row.

He knows how Junhui likes his coffee; black, with just a little bit of milk and sugar. He knows what he orders in all the fast foods, knows Junhui likes mixing soju with beer because that’s what he always did whenever they went out.

Wonwoo realizes Junhui likes reading mangas because he’s seen him do it more than once. Either on his phone or with a paper copy in his hands. He thinks Junhui likes animals, too; there was this one time he walked in on Junhui and Mingyu watching some cat videos in the middle of the night, both of them smiling softly and pointing at something with their fingers. He knows Junhui’s laugh sounds beautiful when it's sincere, because he used to hear it often when Junhui joked around with Minghao.

It hits him.

This image of Junhui is so contradictory to the one Wonwoo has in his mind that it forces him to start wondering whether he's the only one who sees Junhui that way. His heart clenches because maybe he’s the one who has been blind all along, never realizing Junhui is not that different from him, just a twenty-three-year-old struggling to stay normal despite the circumstances. It feels like a revelation, of sorts.

And he feels himself wanting to know more, wanting to drink words from Junhui’s lips. But it’s too late now, and turns out the only things about Junhui on the internet are articles about his father and a ghosted account on Weibo, last updated four years ago.

The guilt becomes unbearable. His hands open and close, grasping at something that doesn’t exist, at least not within his reach.

 

 

 

 

 

“The money you’ve been sending to parents… was it legal?” his brother asks one day, and the look in his eyes is enough to let Wonwoo know he’s looking for answers, not half-assed excuses.

They’re sitting in their parent’s living room, watching some talent show neither of them cares about. The sound of people clapping serves a background noise. Judging by the indifferent looks on their faces, one would think they’re discussing their daily lives, Bohyuk’s school and the upcoming exams. But that’s something they share; the ability to look disinterested while trying to calm a storm in their hearts.

This is what he wants to say: I thought doing it would help you all but it only made things worse. I remember the smile you gave me when I was leaving home and I can’t bring myself to look you in the eye now.

“I wish I could say it was,” is what he says instead.

It’s hard, admitting the truth. Ruining the image of a perfect, responsible brother. He’s always wanted to be that to Bohyuk, wanted to serve as an example and an anchor in difficult times. But he knows right now he’s the exact opposite of that, just a mess and a heart with a gaping hole.

Bohyuk doesn’t look disappointed, though. He nods and hangs his head, suddenly looking so, so tired.

“Don’t tell them,” Wonwoo says, tone pleading.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” his brother reassures, playing with the remote control, eyes fixed on the TV screen.

 

 

 

 

  
His hands start to shake in random situations.

He sometimes feels like kneeling down and apologizing to every person he’s ever stolen from; it’s the realization he can’t do it that makes him feel even worse.

He wishes he could wash his hands from sin, but there’s no blood to get rid of. There might as well be.

 

 

 

 

  
One day, the caller ID changes.

“Hyung,” Mingyu starts as soon as he hears Wonwoo answer the phone. His voice sounds almost desperate, and every worst case scenario crosses Wonwoo’s mind before the younger continues. “Talk to him. He’s going insane.”

Wonwoo doesn’t need to ask to know who Mingyu is talking about.

“He’s right,” he hears Minghao say in a loud voice, and it makes Wonwoo sigh heavily, before opening his mouth to speak.

“There’s nothing I can do, okay? He doesn’t want me around.”

“God, stop being so empty-headed. He’s been drinking nonstop for the past two weeks. I don’t care what happened between you two, but you’re his best friend and the only one who can stop him,” Mingyu says. “Trust me, we’ve already tried.”

 

 

 

 

  
The next time Junhui calls, it’s the middle of the night. Wonwoo’s already in his bed, mindlessly playing yet another mobile game, and when the image on the screen changes, he’s so startled he ends up dropping the phone on his face.

There’s a rush of adrenaline coursing through his system, suddenly. Breath catches in his chest and maybe the way his body reacts is the reason he picks up before he can actually think it over. He's been planning to do it sooner or later, anyway.

“Oh my god, you finally answered,” Junhui slurs, the tone of his voice clearly surprised. He keeps breathing heavily, and it’s enough for Wonwoo to tell he’s drunk. There’s a need to be there to hold him, and Wonwoo can’t dismiss it; he knows Junhui is a messy drunk, even clumsier than he usually is on a regular basis, always crashing into things on his way. It used to be Wonwoo who cleaned up his mess.

“I did,” Wonwoo answers and sighs. “What’s up?”

He feels stupid, saying this out loud. Stubborn. But he is like that: always contradicting himself, doing things that belittle his feelings. Junhui knows it too, and Wonwoo knows Junhui knows, so he doesn’t go out of his way to change his habits.

“You can’t ignore me for three weeks and ask what’s up,” Junhui answers, accenting every syllable. Wonwoo can hear someone calling Junhui’s name and the line gets silent for a while. “You just can’t, that’s against the rules.”

“What do you want me to say then? I’m sorry?”

“God, no,” Junhui answers. He sounds more sober, now, and Wonwoo hears the sound of an empty can being kicked away. Junhui clicks his tongue and sighs heavily before continuing, “Let’s meet up, okay? Let’s meet up and fix everything.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, more to himself than to Junhui, and exhales deeply. “Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I think I have to go back,” he tells his mother the next morning, watching her prepare for work.

She sets her bag back on the table and stares at him for the longest time; probably seconds, but maybe minutes. Wonwoo isn’t sure, shuffling his feet nervously, waiting for an answer.

“May I know why?” her tone says clearly that she’s not even considering letting him go to be an option. And honestly, he’s not surprised. Understands it, even.

“My friend needs help,” he says, scratching his neck. There’s a rush of anxiety, a numbness in his limbs that doesn’t go away even when he tries to breathe evenly. “Besides, I’ll have to go back, sooner or later.”

She sighs deeply. Wonwoo suddenly feels so tired; she looks like she does, too. He observes her small figure and wonders when did she get so thin.

“Look, I know what you’ve been doing and I’d rather you stay here than go back to such things,” she says, staring sternly as if she wanted to see past through him. “There’s no need, we can deal with this debt—,”

And perhaps it’s hearing her say it out loud that makes Wonwoo crumble, but it doesn’t matter, in the end, when he slips into a chair and starts sobbing, covering his face with both of his hands. It still doesn’t matter when she puts her chin on his head and wraps her arms around him. He wants to ask for understanding and wants her to cleanse his soul, and she does; whispers _I forgive you but please don’t to do it anymore_ while trying to calm him down.

Maybe he should be angry at his brother for spilling the things Wonwoo had tried so hard to bury somewhere deep inside his own chest, but this feeling — being forgiven and still loved — overshadows everything else. He looks at his mother’s crying face, puffy eyes and red cheeks, and thinks this moment, the mutual understanding, is what he’s been longing for all along.

 

 

 

 

 

He comes back to Seoul with nothing but the words he has on his lips and the coat that’s hanging off his shoulders. Maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe this should a new page, waiting to be filled with ink from his own fingertips.

They meet up at a cafe they’ve been to only once. It’s a neutral ground, with none of them holding too much affection for the place.

Wonwoo finds him in a corner, wearing a sweater a few sizes too big — did he lose weight? He notices how messy Junhui’s hair looks, notices the blemishes on his face and thinks, maybe this is how Junhui looks in real life. Maybe this is what Junhui is, a twenty-something who can’t get his shit together, not a perfect criminal Wonwoo thinks he is.

Junhui sends him a smile when he sees Wonwoo sit down. It’s a shy one, almost soft, and Wonwoo’s heart already starts melting because this is what he’s been missing; the smiles, the smallest gestures and the cracks of realness — and there it is, in front of him.

“Listen, Wonwoo,” Junhui says, and hands him a menu he had apparently received from the waiter before Wonwoo's arrival. He’s trying to keep his hands busy, and Wonwoo can see it; so he grabs the menu but doesn’t look down to actually read it, keeping his stare fixed on Junhui’s face.

“I don’t want to be like my father anymore. This,” Junhui motions with his hands, trying to draw a picture that exists only in his mind. Wonwoo sees it clearly before his eyes. “This is making me lose you, and that’s the opposite of what I want.”

“I don’t want to hide things, and I don’t want to end up in jail like he did, trying to run away from things I’m scared of,” he continues, looking down and staring at his hands. Wonwoo keeps quiet. “I know he had his reasons and I had my reasons too, but I’m really, really tired.”

Junhui’s lip starts to quiver and he bites it, closing his eyes, trying not to show. Wonwoo wishes he could reach out his hand and try to calm him down, but it seems inappropriate in such circumstances, so he keeps it still, looking at Junhui with a pain in his chest.

“I’m just tired of pretending and I’m tired of this mask that makes me forget who I am,” he confesses in the end, finally looking up. His hands are shaking, now, and Wonwoo _knows_. “I really have no idea anymore. Sometimes I think the only thing I’m sure of is the love I have for you, and even then, I put you through so much shit that I hate myself for it.”

These words — so vulnerable and so, so surreal — make Wonwoo’s breath catch in his chest and suddenly he’s too aware of the reality he’s in. Or maybe not. Maybe he loses it. He unconsciously starts digging his nails into the skin on his wrist and the world spins, spins, spins. The image of Junhui in front of him is too blurry and thinks, maybe this is the dream he’s been craving for, maybe it’s his mind pulling tricks on him for wanting too much all at once.

But then, he hears: Junhui’s quiet voice, pleading, telling him to calm down. He’s being pulled back to the surface, with a strong grip on his wrist. And seeing this — Junhui’s genuinely concerned expression and expectant eyes — makes the water in his lungs disappear. Because this is real, finally, it’s real and Junhui is right in front of him, waiting for Wonwoo to come back to his senses.

“Let’s try,” he says when he regains his breathing and doesn't stop himself from reaching for Junhui's hand. “I want us to try.”

 

 

 

 

 

  
This is how they make it work:

Wonwoo enrolls at university, again. It’s the same course as before because his world might have changed, but there’s still this thing he enjoys the most: writing and reading. So he does just that, spends his days at a campus library, always in the same spot, reading books he’s been assigned and finishing essays that would be a pain if he didn’t enjoy writing them so much.

He works during the weekends, too, at a cat cafe near his new apartment. It’s tough, sometimes, dealing with a variety of customers and reminding them how to take care of the animals living there, but there’s something that makes up for it. The cats’ constant company turns out to be therapeutic, and sometimes, when the cafe gets empty, he spends his free time playing with them and lets them sit in his lap. He starts considering adopting one of them at some point, but puts it off, waiting for Junhui’s approval.

They live together now, him and Junhui. In a small apartment that’s just enough for the both of them. It’s nothing special, a combination of white walls and minimalist furniture. They decorate it with their favorite things; Wonwoo buys way too many plants and Junhui brings colorful, soft pillows and candles in various sizes. It’s enough and it’s perfect, because that’s the place he wants to return to every day.

Junhui starts working at a casino Mingyu’s father opened not that long ago. He'd quickly found out how hard it is for a foreigner to find a job while having no real experience; that’s where Mingyu intervened, telling Junhui his father is looking for someone he can trust and hire as a bartender. And maybe it should feel wrong, but his work never goes beyond serving drinks and dealing with clingy drunks. Wonwoo can see Junhui enjoys it, sometimes, and it’s enough to put his mind at ease.

He learns a lot about himself and most importantly, about Junhui. Wonwoo watches him come out of his therapist’s office every Friday, calmer than before, and this sight soothes him, too. Sometimes he sits at their kitchen table, observing Junhui as he's cooking and humming old Chinese ballads no one cares about anymore, and can feel things are changing right in front of him.

He feels himself falling in love, again, but it seems real this time; there’s a real warmth spreading throughout his body, not a need for companionship and words that don’t carry any meaning. He isn't sure yet, but that's perfectly fine, because this is how it should be. Because they have time on their hands and there's no clock ticking and serving as a reminder the night is coming to an end. Wonwoo finally allows himself to take his time.

 

 

 

 

 

  
The casino is packed with people when he walks in; a sea of strangers, people playing and throwing money on the table, and conversations that never stop. It’s hard to move past through it all the way to the bar, but then he notices a familiar face and decides to take a deep breath before walking into the chaos.

Junhui is serving a customer when he notices his presence. He sends Wonwoo a small smile, barely visible, but still there. When he’s done, he uses a small cloth to wipe his hands and turns in Wonwoo’s direction, his smile growing bigger since there’s no one to pay attention anymore.

“Shift ends in twenty minutes,” he says, even though Wonwoo knows. That’s the reason he’s here, anyway. “Wanna something to drink?”

“Something light would be nice, actually.”

“Will do, sir,” Junhui answers, pretending to salute. Wonwoo smiles at that and takes out his phone to occupy his thoughts while waiting.

The drink really is light, as it turns out. Wonwoo can barely feel any alcohol as he drinks it, watching Junhui bustle about and serve his last customers for the night. He finds himself enjoying this view, for some reason; the smiles Junhui generously gives out seem sincere and Wonwoo can’t help but drink this sight in. Junhui steals a glance at Wonwoo, sometimes, as if he was trying to confirm he’s still there, waiting for him. And of course, Wonwoo is. He always is.

 

 

 

 

  
It starts raining on their way back to the apartment.

The walk back home takes longer than it usually does because of that, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind it that much. Honestly, he still feels a little strange, calling this small apartment home, but it’s exactly that; the place he feels the safest in, a shelter from the outside world.

It takes them a while to take off their coats and shoes in the dark, not bothering to search for the light switch. They’re both tired; Wonwoo can feel his eyes almost closing, and sees Junhui stretching his arms to keep himself awake. He grabs his hand nevertheless, forcing Junhui to join him in the bathroom.

They wash their teeth together, occasionally stealing glances at each other, and it’s still somehow surreal to think they ended up like this, sharing toothpaste while wearing nothing but worn-out t-shirts. Sometimes life is like that, Wonwoo decides.

After putting his toothbrush back into the cup, Junhui grabs his hand and turns the water on before stepping into the shower. Wonwoo knows exactly how it’s going to go; knows he’s going to fall in love with Junhui all over again.

And he definitely does when Junhui starts nibbling at the skin on his neck, sometimes switching to leaving small kisses here and there. Wonwoo’s head hits the tiles then, and he can feel Junhui smiling against his skin. He starts whining because it's never enough and it certainly isn't now; the sound is enough to make Junhui drop his usual teasing. He starts lowering down, slowly, leaving kisses on his stomach before fully kneeling down and taking Wonwoo's cock into his mouth.

Maybe it's the sleepiness that makes him come undone in almost no time. Honestly, Junhui doesn't even have to do much to make Wonwoo come almost embarrassingly fast. Junhui doesn't say anything, though, as he waits for Wonwoo to come down from his high.

“Come back,” Wonwoo says lazily a few minutes later, when he notices Junhui opening the shower door. He tries to grab his hand but fails eventually, feeling dazed, for the most part, trying to stop his eyes from closing. “Let me return the favor.”

Junhui smiles, softly, and shakes his head. “Look at you, you’re going to fall asleep in a second. You can do it tomorrow, just go to bed.”

And Wonwoo probably would, but then he looks at Junhui, the reddened skin on his neck and collarbones, bitten lips and decides to stay; kisses him and runs nails down his back as Junhui starts jerking himself off. His hands are fast but Wonwoo still gets impatient, eventually swatting Junhui’s hand away; he replaces it with his own, guiding Junhui to his orgasm.

 

There’s a grin on Junhui’s face when they get out of the shower; Wonwoo wants to kiss it off. And he does, one last time, before grabbing his t-shirt and putting it back on.

“Seriously, go to bed now,” Junhui says, hands reaching for a bottle of cream he always uses before going to sleep. “I’ll follow.”

Wonwoo’s too exhausted to argue with him like he sometimes does, so he complies silently, enjoying the warmth the sheets offer him once he lies down. The rain is still falling, and he focuses on the sounds of pitter-patter against the window to keep himself awake.

 

 

Junhui joins him ten minutes later, and the last thing Wonwoo registers before drifting off to sleep is a whispered _I love you_ , the warmth of Junhui’s arms and a realization: the storm is coming to an end.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on [twt](https://twitter.com/moonfens) ;; any kind of feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> thank you for reading! ♡


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